


And Warmer Than the Sun

by infinitevariety (disapparater)



Series: Summer Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anthony JActs of Service Crowley, Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, Ice Cream, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Summer Omens (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25356472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/infinitevariety
Summary: Aziraphale wants an ice cream. Crowley goes on a mission.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Summer Omens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836280
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	And Warmer Than the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer Omens prompt ICE CREAM and originally posted [here](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/post/623626168803983360/ice-cream).

Crowley lifts his wrist from where it’s resting on the floor to look at his watch. It’s already five past two. He should really get going. He needs to stop off and buy feed, but if he doesn’t get to St James’s by half past, then the ducks will wonder where he is and be hungry enough to set the geese after him.

But he’s _comfy_. Face down, spread long on Aziraphale’s sofa, limbs every which way. He doesn’t want to move and resolves to stay put for another few minutes. The ducks’ll get over it.

He does turn he head to rest sideways on the sofa cushion though. The better to watch Aziraphale as he putters about the shop. Crowley smiles as Aziraphale pulls a book down from the shelf, muttering to himself and shaking his head, before re-shelving it five books over.

It’s because Crowley is watching so fondly that he sees it. The flicker of delight that crosses Aziraphale’s face as he looks up at the window. It’s only there for a fraction of a second though, before it’s replaced by a disgruntled scowl.

“Angel?” Crowley pushes himself up to sitting. “Everything all right?”

“Fine, fine,” blusters Aziraphale. He gives one last glare to the window before turning back to the bookshelves.

Baffled, Crowley twists to look at the window. He sees nothing of obvious import, just people and traffic passing by on the street outside. But now he’s paying attention he can _hear_ something. The cheery, obnoxious music of an ice cream van. And it’s getting closer.

“You want an ice cream?” ask Crowley, turning back to Aziraphale. As he speaks he realises he must be wrong—the prospect of a strawberry split would never make Aziraphale scowl.

“I _would_.” Aziraphale snaps the book he’s holding closed with a huff.

“But?” Crowley pushes, aware that Aziraphale’s mood could turn on him at any moment.

Aziraphale heaves a put-upon sigh. “But they never stop near here. They blast their luring music, whet a person’s appetite, and blow right by. At least once a week! Always not long after lunch, too.”

Crowley watches as Aziraphale looks back to the window. This time, instead of scowling, he looks soft and longing, eyes large and glossy. And Crowley is _weak_ for that look, even when Aziraphale isn’t actively weaponising it.

The annoying, jovial music is now extremely loud. Almost right outside.

“That’s a real pity, Angel.” Crowley stands up. “Look, I’ve got to head off. Late for very important demonic business, but I’ll see you for dinner, yeah?”

Aziraphale’s, “Of course, my dear, mind how you go,” follows him out the door.

Outside he jumps in the Bentley, tyres decidedly not squealing—because they know what’s good for them—as he pulls off at speed and takes chase. He sees the ice cream van several cars ahead, and easily catches up and keeps pace. He follows it down various streets and around multiple corners before it enters Hyde Park.

As soon as the van pulls to a stop, music still blaring, Crowley’s out of the Bentley and charging forwards. His only competition is the short-legged variety, and he easily reaches the window of the van ahead of the several children racing towards it.

“You!” Crowley all but shouts at the woman inside the van.

“Me?” she replies.

“You. Why do drive through Soho with your shitty music playing but don’t stop?”

“Oh, I get so used to it I always forget to switch it off!” She turns away and a few seconds later the music abruptly ceases. She faces Crowley again. “Sorry!”

Crowley waves a dismissive hand at her. “The problem isn’t the music, it’s the _not stopping_.”

Her brow creases. “I never stop in Soho.”

“I know. And that’s the problem.”

“Soho is mostly shops and bars.” She shakes her head. “Not exactly the place for ice cream.”

“Who’s inside those shops and bars, though?” Crowley points out. “ _People_. Hungry people. Warm people. People with a bit of sweet tooth, a craving for a strawberry split, and the softest smile when he gets what he wants.”

“Er...”

“I got too specific.” It’s Crowley’s turn to shake his head. “My point still stands.”

“Right, okay. Could you… move? There are kids behind you who want ice creams.”

“There are people in _Soho_ who want ice creams. And I would _suggest_ —” Crowley gives just enough of a demonic push. “—that you start stopping there. On Berwick Street, opposite that old bookshop with the funny opening hours.”

Crowley doesn’t wait for a response before he walks away, because he knows his words have taken. It’s definitely not because the brat queuing behind him has started poking him in the back of the knees.

-

A week later sees Crowley lounging on Aziraphale’s sofa once again. His eyes are closed, but he’s not sleeping. Yet. When his ears pick up the vexingly jolly music in the distance, he knows he’s not going to get his afternoon nap.

The sound of a book being slammed down on to a flat surfaces tells him Aziraphale has also heard the music. This time, instead of being concerned, Crowley feels a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He cracks open an eye to watch Aziraphale.

Soon the music grows to a crescendo and… holds. It doesn’t go by and fade into the distance, but remains disgustingly loud and located right opposite the shop.

Aziraphale looks up from his desk, clearly puzzled. He glances at Crowley, who quickly clamps his eye shut. Then Crowley hears Aziraphale stand and bustle quickly to the door.

There is stillness in the shop for a few minutes, before the bell above the door tinkles and announces Aziraphale’s return.

“Crowley, wake up, I’ve got you a 99.”

Crowley opens his eyes, sitting up and letting his grin run free across his face.

“Thanks, angel,” he says, taking the ice cream cone.

Aziraphale sits back down at his desk, licking his strawberry split and staring at Crowley.

“Did you have something to do with that?” Aziraphale uses his lolly to point in the direction of the ice cream van outside.

“Why on earth would you think that?” says Crowley innocently.

“Because you’ve been humming that sodding awful tune all week.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/).


End file.
